A Depressed Kendo Player Possesses a Bastard Aristocrat

Chapter 106.1: Heat flower (6) Part 1

Heat flower (6)

"It's been a while, Raiden."

"...Father?"

I saw my father's face for the first time in almost half a year.

I couldn't help but be surprised by the sudden reunion, my mind drawing a blank.

Why is Father here?

And why is Gilbert here?

No, more importantly, what even is this place...?

Countless questions filled my head in an instant, but I pushed them aside for now and returned the greeting.

"It has been a while, Father."

"Indeed."

A short reply came back immediately.

It was an awfully dry exchange for a father and son reuniting after such a long time, but I didn't take it to heart.

Father had always been like this.

Blunt and taciturn... the complete opposite of Mother.

"...You haven't changed a bit."

Seeing him just as I remembered, I gave a wry smile.

Subtle emotions stirred within me, rippling like gentle waves over the surface of my turbulent heart.

I had to collect my trembling breath to keep from drowning beneath the tide.

"So, what is this place? I don't think I've ever been here before..."

"Now that you mention it, this must be your first time seeing this place, Young Master. This is, well... the Duke's personal lounge, so to speak."

"Lounge...?"

At my puzzled look, Gilbert set the bottles he was holding down on the table and continued.

"You see, the Duke is quite the connoisseur of fine spirits. He always enjoys a drink after finishing his paperwork, so I prepared this space for him to enjoy it properly, rather than at his desk in the study."

"I distinctly remember saying it was unnecessary..."

"Haha, and yet you find yourself here almost every day... Surely you're not trying to back out of it now?"

"...Well, I never said I disliked it."

Father and Gilbert bantered back and forth, each with a glass and a bottle in hand.

As I watched them, a strange sense of nostalgia washed over me. Gilbert caught my eye and smiled faintly.

"Since you're here, Young Master, would you care for a drink?"

"...I'm not old enough to drink yet."

"Heh heh... That's quite a thing to say, coming from someone who used to drown himself in alcohol every day."

"Of course, I'm just kidding. I'll have a glass of something cold, please."

I shrugged lightly and walked over to the table.

Taking a seat a couple of spaces away from my father, I let out a heavy sigh.

"Ha..."

"That sounds like a heavy sigh. Are you alright, Young Master?"

"I suppose."

I nodded, rubbing my face as if washing it with dry hands.

The truth was, nothing felt alright... but I didn't need to burden them with my troubles.

I chewed on my lip absentmindedly, tapping my fingers on the table.

As silence descended upon us, a glass filled with ice and amber liquid was placed in front of me.

"Here you go. It's a fine vintage that arrived last month. I hear it's brewed by the nomads in the southwest."

"Thank you, Gilbert."

As I took the glass, a cool sensation spread across my palm.

The crimson liquid, reminiscent of the evening sunset, sloshed gently, its weight settling into my hand.

I took a small sip, feeling the burn as it slid down my throat.

The alcohol spread through my empty stomach, a familiar warmth.

I emptied the glass in one go and winced, savoring the bitter aftertaste.

"It's... quite strong."

"Take it slow, Young Master. You have a low tolerance yet you always gulp it down like that. It's no wonder you get drunk so quickly."

Gilbert chided as he refilled my empty glass.

I let out a small chuckle.

"A low tolerance? You must be talking about someone else."

"I'm talking about you, Young Master."

"I can hold my liquor... Seriously."

"Hmm... But you always blackout after a single sip, don't you?"

"..."

Gilbert had a point.

At a loss for words, I fiddled with my glass.

The reflection of a black-haired boy stared back at me from the crimson surface.

With a light touch, ripples spread across the miniature pond, distorting my reflection.

Lost in thought, I finally spoke again.

"Actually... I remember everything."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, back when I was acting like a drunken fool. I wasn't actually drunk back then."

Perhaps I took after my father, a known alcohol enthusiast.

I'd always had a high tolerance.

I could get tipsy, but never truly drunk.

Naturally, I'd never blacked out from drinking.

"So, I remember everything. Every single thing I did back then..."

"..."

"Every last detail."

"Young Master..."

Gilbert's expression was a mixture of surprise and confusion.

He seemed at a loss for words for a moment before he finally spoke again.

"Are you saying... all those drunken antics you pulled were just an act?"

"Yes."

"But why...?"

"Well..."

Gilbert's eyes were filled with disbelief.

I could feel my father's gaze on me from the side.

I gave a bitter smile and took another sip of my drink.

The ice clinked softly against the glass, and the sharp scent of alcohol filled my senses.

The intoxicating feeling, hazy like the morning mist, spread through me. I forced another bitter smile.

"Back then... I was hurting."

"..."

"You both knew, didn't you? That I was putting on an act..."

A heavy silence fell over us.

I looked at their faces, both etched with complicated emotions and nodded slowly.

They had been by my side since before I was even born.

I had a feeling they might have guessed the truth behind my reckless behavior...

It seemed I was right.

"Do you perhaps... know why?"

"I had my suspicions, Young Master, but I never knew the reason..."

"Same here. Considering when you changed, I assumed it had something to do with Phillipa's death... but that was all."

Both Gilbert and Father shook their heads, their expressions heavy with concern.

Bitterness welled up inside me, and I clenched my fists.

Despite my best efforts, my lips trembled.

I pushed down the shards of emotion piercing my heart and spoke again.

"Would you... like to hear about it?"

"...What do you mean?"

"An old story, of course."

"I'm not sure if this old man is the right audience for the Young Master's tales..."

Gilbert chuckled, but his eyes held a knowing glint. He reached for a new bottle from the cabinet.

As he refilled my father's and my empty glasses, he asked,

"Are you sure about this, Young Master?"

"About what?"

"I thought you disliked talking about that time."

"..."

Why was that?

Why did I suddenly feel the urge to reveal the story I had kept bottled up for so long?

"I'm fine... It's just an 'old story' now."

Perhaps it was because of what happened yesterday.

Because Mother's love, a feeling I had tried so hard to forget, had resurfaced, stirring up a storm of emotions within me.

All the buried feelings I had kept hidden threatened to spill over.

"What do you say? It'll make for a good story over drinks."

"If you're sure, Young Master..."

"...I'd like to hear it too."

Gilbert hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly.

Father's gaze followed, his expression unreadable.

A strange smile touched my lips as I spoke, my voice barely a whisper.

"Alright. Where should I begin...? It's a rather long story."

Click.

An old film reel started playing in my mind.

I stared at the yellowed screen and began to unspool the story from beyond.

.

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